Day 19. I made a remarkable discovery, which I decided to write about. Someone was carrying a copy of "Robinson Crusoe". What a weirdo. Why carry a paper book when all possible literature has long been downloaded onto electronic devices? But perhaps the book was dear to him as a memory. Maybe it was a gift from someone? Oh, human sentimentality.
Now that nothing urgent threatens me, my mind is trying to calm down. My psyche shuts itself off from reality, pushing away thoughts of the inevitable, otherwise everything could descend into senseless panic. Carefree calm and agonizing panic. These last few days, I've been trying to balance between these states. There isn't much time, so it needs to be spent wisely.
With every meal, I can't help but see, can't help but realize how my supplies are melting away before my eyes. And I stubbornly try to come up with a solution. It is unfortunate that all the cargo necessary for colonizing the planet, including food and seed supplies, was sent by cargo ships. However, even if I found a potato here, it would hardly help me. Rags, plastic packaging, even Daniel Defoe himself — they can be shredded, put on the substrate, fertilized with my own feces, and used as soil. But the mixed light from LED lamps is not enough to grow anything worthwhile. Plants need ultraviolet light. So the idea of growing shitty potatoes in space in your own shit is shitty in itself. You have a much better chance of surviving by scraping mold off all surfaces with your tongue. It's a pity that they completely sterilize the ships.
But I'm not giving up hope. Maybe there's a magic lamp in some of Hussein-al-Marouf's belongings. Then my problems will be solved.